


The Crystal and The Magnet.

by MayumiSato



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Also another characters but they are not the main ones., M/M, Slow build romance here!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7469079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayumiSato/pseuds/MayumiSato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sooo, Arthur, right? That's your name, isn't it?” It was shocking to see how shamelessly Alfred Frederick Jones interrupted Mr. Williams in the middle of his sentence to ask me that. That was very unexpected behavior coming from someone with his economic status. Also, I couldn't ignore the fact that he had just called me by my first name while my father and my older brothers weren't even there! What a unmannered gentleman! “What exactly do you study?”</p><p> </p><p>- A romance with comedy and some drops of drama about a young geologist, his summer vacation and the annoying son of the owner of the place he's staying in. Or maybe, the story about a confused and rebellious young man who happens to meet someone very interesting during the summer but don't quite know how to deal with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crystal and The Magnet.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeplerfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeplerfer/gifts).



> Hello, ladies, gentlemen and all incredible people who are not in the binary system!
> 
> I’m very glad to meet you! I am Mayumi Sato and I wrote for some time in the Brazilian fandom(about five years), and I'm slowly trying to be a part of the international fandom as well! This story is the first I'm posting with an international audience in mind from the start, given that it was never posted in Portuguese, and it’s a completely new one! I really hope you can enjoy it, have fun with it and if possible, give some feedback to support me, because in spite of everything, I still write in Portuguese first, then translate (and translation is so hard)!
> 
> This will be an historic long-shot of USUKUS I am dedicating officially Miss Zeplerfer, who is a fantastic person, an extremely important presence in the fandom and the person who helped me start posting stories in English. I am very grateful for all the help she gave me and all the contributions she always makes the fans of this couple and I hope she likes this story and appreciate it as a gift! Ah! I also want to thank abibliophobic-salamander for helping me to revise my translation and make it more presentable and natural to my audience! Thank you very, very much! That was very kind of you and I can't thank you enough! 
> 
>  Well, that's it, people! I apologize for possible small historical and grammatical errors, but I hope you enjoy the story anyway and see its development. =) PS: My co-author will appear at an interesting time, but for now, it’s just me here, writting these chapters.You will see what I mean later.;D PS2: Alfred can be kind of a asshole in this first part, but do not worry. This will not be a case of "romantic interest making an huge idiot be a better person through personal sacrifice." This character will still have a lot to develop and display and I hope you will be patient with him and with me!XD
> 
> Anyway, cya you all soon(hopefully)! Please, please, give me some support if you enjoyed this chapter and wish to see more of this story! Until next time!!!=DDD

_**The Crystal and The Magnet.** _

 

 

 

Chapter 01.

 

 

The residence of the Jones family was the perfect proof that same beginnings don't always lead to the same end. I shall always remember how astonished I was at how magnanimous that mansion seemed to me in the summer of 1789, when I caught a glimpse of it for the first time out of my carriage window. That white and gigantic structure, full of Greek columns and architectural details that stood towering in the middle of a green field of wide empty lands. Compared to my comfortable and dignified, yet not luxurious house, which was commonly small for our family of seven and ended up squished between other homes in the middle of the chaos of London, the Jones' property was almost a palace.

 

How curious to think that Mr. Jones and my father were in the same social position and had been business partners since long ago, keeping their friendship although their economic situation became very different. That was something I could only be grateful about since that strange friendship was of great use to me in that sunny month of July.

 

Seeing the magnificence of that building, I started to feel a little scared to go there and to meet the owners of the land where I would stay for the next few months. I tried to tell myself that I had no reason to worry: I was in my best clothes and had brought all of my important belongings, so it was not like I needed to ask them immediately for something or had any tangible reasons to feel embarrassed in their presence. However, I could not help my discomfort, since I wasn't used to dealing with people from a status so above mine- much less to depend on their favours. I was aware that my father and Mr. Jones exchanged letters frequently and very naturally called each other by their first names. Still, their friendship wasn't enough to make me feel at ease. Considering that I, Arthur Kirkland, had never met nor talked with any of the Jones bloodline until that day, I had no idea what to expect from them.

 

Was Mr. Jones arrogant? Earnest? Meddlesome? I didn't know his faults, qualities, principles, or preferences, so I couldn't simply overcome my fear of being a bother during the period I would pass on their propriety. What if I wound up eliminating an excellent, beneficial relationship from my family's social circle? Urgh. Curse my extremely low social skills.

 

The stress made my stomach begin to feel pressure from an invisible force that seemed to throw it up and down, up and down. As if being physically pressed against the carriage's door and pushed down by my bags wasn't bad enough.

 

After a couple of minutes, I felt a strong nausea and had to put my face on the window again to get some fresh air. That's when I saw Mr. Jones for the first time.

 

He was not the huge, intimidating dragon in giant fancy clothes I thought I would see. He was a middle aged man with a bald spot on his head, sporting white and messy hair. He wore quite sober and distinctive clothing than from what would be expected of someone who was waving his arms and jumping like a child, as if seeing an exotic animal at the front gate of his mansion.

 

“Kirkland! Kirkland! What a great pleasure and honour to welcome you to my humble property!” he exclaimed, running towards me as soon as my carriage stopped.‘Humble’.

 

“Your father didn't let me send one of my own carriages to catch you, that old fool! Well, good that you still arrived just in time for the tea!”

 

Indeed, I had arrived in time for the tea, I concluded after getting out of the carriage. I saw that the sky had a weak shade of blue as if in preparation for the sunset. It was about five in the clock, I thought.

 

My eyes couldn't remain in the sky for too long, however. They lacked the chance of doing that, I would say. Instead, they had to quickly return to a strange and happy Mr. Jones who seemed truly excited to talk to me. He took my hands abruptly when I was reaching out to pick up my luggage.

 

“I can barely express how happy I am to receive a son of Erick in my house! I invited your father so many times to spend time here with his lovely family and that old bastard always gave me so many excuses and rejections that I became truly surprised when he asked me to receive his son here! I wanted him to come too but he says he is too busy for such a long journey. Oh, that Erick!”

 

It was already bizarre for a young man to hear his father being called by his first name and to hear him being offended with such fondness, but to hear it from a man who could afford to buy my house twenty times was truly the weirdest of the experiences. I smiled hesitantly, tilting my head to the side.

 

“Oh, but I'm talking too much!” Mr. Jones said, clapping his hands and calming himself for a bit. “You must be Arthur, the youngest! Am I correct?”

 

Yes, he was correct. I was, in fact, Arthur, the youngest.

 

Arthur, the most "spoiled" of the Kirkland sons. Arthur, the morose and less robust member of the Kirklands. Arthur, the "I-am-trying-to-find-my-way-but-knowing-that-it-involves-books-and-not-a-wife" son.

 

“Yes, you are correct, mister.” I chose to respond more concisely because he just asked me something simple, not for a detailed, creative self-description. “I'm glad to see that you were properly informed about my visit. The purpose of my trip-”

 

Before I could explain the rest, Mr. Jones put an arm around my shoulders and started walking with me. I got worried about my baggage and looked back for a moment, but he made gestures to some of the servants at the entrance. I didn't understand them at first, but the signals made the servants move right after that to the carriage. There they grabbed my baggage.

 

That was an incredible scene for me. In my house, we had only one person to do the most heavy house duties. Our parents made sure we knew that we would suffer hell on Earth if we wasted their time with tasks that we were fully able to accomplish. To see Mr. Jones casually making three people carry my bags with a simple gesture was such an unreal scenery in the world I lived in.

 

But for Mr. Jones that was just routine. Not impressed with the scene as I was, he continued to walk forward, still holding me by the shoulders. The difference between our physical statures caused him to practically drag me with him while he walked.

 

“I know. I know. Your father informed me,” he smiled warmly in my direction, “You came here to study this area, correct?”

 

Well, that was a less embarrassing way to put it. I felt grateful for the lack of details provided by my father about my reasons for being there.

 

“Again, you're correct,” I said, clearing my throat. I was hoping that there would be no more questions on the topic, since it always resulted in the same annoying dialogues.

 

“Would you be so kind as to inform me on your field of study? Please?”

 

Urgh. I wasn't ready for that. Mr. Jones had asked so politely that it was hard for me not to answer. I didn't want to be rude to my host. As I said, curse my social skills.

 

“Geology,” I said in one breath with a concentrated and serious face, “I am interested in studying the rock formations of this area because there's not much recorded about them.”

 

“Rocks?” Mr. Jones blinked, surprised. “Then, you came here to study the _rocks_?”

 

A resigned sigh escaped through my mouth. Such a predictable reaction. Most people thought it was a pretty silly interest. That was nothing new. Every time I talked about my field of study I would either receive questions like “But what use does it have???” or jokes like “The only rocks that interest me are some good golden rocks!”

 

“Yes, rocks,” I confirmed in a flat tone.

 

“Oh. Intellectuals are certainly impressive! They know about all sorts of things,” Mr. Jones said with an unexpectedly awed expression. “Rocks! Who would have thought? I didn't even know that someone wanted to study them! I admire you naturalists. I may not look like it, seeing how big my property is, I'm aware of that, but the truth is that, unfortunately, I'm a simple man. I have no more knowledge than the basics to read documents and to check if I'm getting the right amount of money for my businesses, so I really admire you scholars. I'm trying to provide a better education for my son, of course, and the boy is a smart one, however…”

 

There was a relatively dramatic pause for a second. I think Mr. Jones probably kept waiting for an incentive to keep talking, but since I was determined to be as silent as I could, I couldn't provide it to him. He made a mistake in choosing me as the listener to family drama. At the time, I was paying more attention to the long corridors of the mansion we were entering- its furniture made of expensive wood, grandiose paintings of Greek gods, and dozens of servants moving from one side to the other- instead of his personal story. I was wondering where we were going. It didn't look like Mr. Jones was just bringing me to my room.

 

“Sadly, my Alfred is a less responsible kid than you, Arthur.” – Mr. Jones decided to finish what he was saying by his own. He was very concerned about that matter, it seemed. It made me a little uncomfortable to be intruding on something so serious to him. “I worry about my boy. I know that he is young and that he has all the time in the world to learn and explore his potential, but it gets me deeply apprehensive when I think about his future and how he's just wasting his youth now. Alfred has so much potential, but he is sloppy, restless, and too dedicated to his own silly hobbies. Sometimes he skips classes to spend all day hunting and riding horses! This is not a good behaviour for my future heir, don't you think?”

 

“I guess not,” I dared to say in agreement, since we seemed to be on the same page about it. “How old is he? Sixteen?”

 

“Twenty-one. He is only two years younger than you. Although, it doesn't seem that the difference between you is that short, considering how much more mature than him you are.”

 

At this point, as if suddenly hit by the need to repent for talking bad about his own son in front of someone he just met, he tried to correct to himself, trying to attenuate the effects of his own words.

 

“Oh, don't mind what I'm saying here! Please, don't be affected by my complaints before knowing him. Deep, deep, deep down, he's a lovely person. He is a very kind and sociable man, my Alfred.”

 

In exchange, he received a very skeptical look from me.

 

As an individual who has spent most of his life in the house with my mother and a maid, I didn't have many social experiences to account for in times of need. Still, I knew I didn't need them to know that it wasn't a good sign when someone repeated "deep down” three times before saying someone's – his son, nonetheless – good qualities.

 

We didn't stay in this discussion for too long, though. A couple of seconds later, confirming a grim feeling that I had in a discrete portion of my mind during our conversation, we finally stopped in front of a large wooden door down the hall that was much too extravagant to be the entrance to my room. Meaning that Mr. Jones wanted me to meet the rest of his family and have tea with them immediately. Oh, heavens.

 

There was no time for rehearsals in front of the mirror. There was no time to imagine tens of outcome possibilities for that event. I was about to be face-to-face with the entire family who would share their house with me for the upcoming months without having any time to think of an escape plan for a worst-case scenario.

 

“Anyway, I'll let you come to your own conclusions about him.” Mr. Jones gave a sideways smile at me, ignoring how much I was shaking (and internally repeating certain vulgar words that would shock most gentlemen). “Please, enter and allow me to introduce you to my family.”

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The dining room of the family Jones was as big and impressive as the rest of the house.

 

Even if there were no great oil paintings of the Jones linage, considering that Mr. Jones was the first person to succeed in his family, there were flowers and statues everywhere that seemed to occupy every vacant corner of the room. It was as if to compensate for the absence of paintings showing a long history of family legacies. All those objects screamed for attention so that the walls were not carefully observed.

 

The object that definitively occupied most of the space of the room was the large table in its center, which seemed to be able to fit more than twenty guests – although, at the moment, only two people were sitting there. They were two extremely similar gentleman who seemed very small on such a big and empty table. What a strange sight. That was not the image I expected to see when I heard that I would be presented to Mr. Jones' family. I couldn't guess such a social person would have more jars than family members in his house.

 

“Stand, gentlemen,” spoke Mr. Jones, solemn, for the first time conveying the authority that it was up to him as patriarch. He finally pulled his arm from my shoulders, using it to make a gesture in my direction. “This is Arthur Kirkland, the youngest son of the best friend I ever had, and an important student of nature.” ‘Important’, he said. “He will be staying in our summer house during this season and I demand that you treat him with all the decorum and respect he deserves. I want him to be well treated both now and when I leave. Do you understand, Alfred?”

 

The final statement was quite specific and openly aggressive. To my surprise, the young man (that I presumed was Alfred) didn't really mind his father's complaint.

 

“Alright, alright. Got it,” he said as if rolling eyes only with his mouth.

 

Mr. Jones made an angry sound that was strangled with difficulty in his throat. His eyes lit the embers of anger and he had to make a clear effort to keep his composure. Taking deep breaths, he kept talking:

 

“Arthur Kirkland, allow me to introduce you to Alfred Frederick Jones, my only son.” He indicated the young man among the two who had shorter hair and a face that seemed to squander the energy and self-confidence characteristics of his age group. “… and this is my other tenant, Mathew Williams.” He then presented the second young man with a much more brief and relaxed gesture. The second young man had a longer and lighter hair and a calmer and more mature face, looking like a slightly older version of Mr. Jones' son. “He took the surname of my sister's husband. He is my dear nephew.”

 

It was shocking to have learned that these two gentlemen were not brothers. My watchful eye enabled me to notice the few differences between the two and they were so slight that the distance of their blood ties seemed absurdly long for their similarity.

 

“Nephew?” I ended up asking, feeling my eyebrows raising on their own, “No offense, but I thought they were…”

 

“Brothers?” Mr. Williams' question slightly sounded like it ended with a period instead of a question mark. He had an almost resigned smile on his face. Something in the way he said that gave me the impression that he had heard that opinion several times and already had a ready answer for these situations. “Don't worry. This is a common mistake. The men in the Jones family are very similar.”

 

“Except I’m much more attractive than Matthew, of course!” Alfred Frederick Jones was keen to exclaim with a big smile, proudly pointing to his chest with his thumb.

 

Similar? They were almost identical! If I had to describe it in a metaphor, I would say that looking at them was like seeing two different paintings of the same man made by different artists, which gave each one of their paintings the little particular characteristics of their styles. They were really similar! Although, if I had to make a choice between them, I would be especially favorable to the quieter one. There was something that made me uneasy in Alfred Frederick Jones. Something in his figure and manners caused me the increasing anxiety of a man who begins to wonder if he accidentally left his store open and what the chances are that a thief will appear there.

 

I was glad to see that Matthew Williams seemed to agree with me about my bad impression of his cousin.

 

“Alfred, honestly, you are really the most…”

 

“Sooo, Arthur, right? That's your name, isn't it?” It was shocking to see how shamelessly Alfred Frederick Jones interrupted Mr. Williams in the middle of his sentence. That was very unexpected behavior coming from someone with his economic status. Also, I couldn't ignore the fact that he had just called me by my first name while my father and my older brothers weren't even there! What a unmannered gentleman! “What exactly do you study?”

 

Oh no.

 

_Calm down, Arthur. Calm down. He appears to be an idiot. Maybe he won't even understand what you say._

 

To give my answer some authority, I laid my hands on my waist in a posture that I supposed to be defensive and imposing.

 

“Geology.” The word was accompanied by a massive portion of air escaping through my mouth.

 

Alfred Frederick Jones, then, started to laugh loudly, nonstop.

 

“Pfff! Is this for real?!” He laughed so much that his body was arched forward, crashing into the table and making a “thump” noise. “So you're one of those new strange guys who spend all day checking on rocks?” He wiped away a tear and flashed an overwhelmingly mocking smile towards my barely controlled figure. I felt the blood rush to my face and my fists clench up instantly- but I was able to control myself. “I can't imagine a more boring task! Did you seriously move to a summer house to observe the ROCKS?”

 

In that instant, every fiber of my being focused on how disadvantageous punching Alfred’s nose would be. I would be arrested the same day, I thought. The jail would be an awful place for someone weak like me. I would probably die in two days. I repeated this to myself many times to calm down.

 

“Alfred, I'll warn you for the last time!” Mr. Jones’ expression got extremely severe and flustered with indignation regarding his son's behaviour. “You must treat Mr. Kirkland with the utmost respect!”

 

“Please, don't concern yourself with me, Mr. Jones.” I tried to act diplomatically. I would rather not be a reason for conflicts in the house. That would be a problem for my “invisibility” goal. Changing topics, I asked a question that I thought was both necessary and harmless so that we could move the conversation in another direction. “By the way, when will I have the opportunity to meet Mrs. Jones?” It's important to mention that I didn't ask this just out of politeness. I truly had high hopes of making friends with the lady of the house.

 

I grew up as a very domestic person. My parents didn't have a daughter, and my older brothers became strong men who had their own way ahead. They were not able to devote themselves to caring for our old parents or our home. As a skinny kid with ease of getting sick, I had to spend a lot of time at home, taking care of the home duties that would be usually delegated to a daughter. I was the only one who could help with the administration of the house and my support was very welcome. Even being a man, I was appreciated for my domestic gifts. I could sew, embroider, paint, shop, control the budget, and whatever else was needed for a good home life. Moreover, I knew exactly where to punch someone who teased me to make them not able to move while I fled far, far away from them.

 

Mrs. Jones would possibly be the person with whom I would identify the most with in the mansion, besides being my greatest opportunity to feel useful to the family. I would love to help the lady of the house with her duties. I couldn't accept such generosity from the Jones family without providing contributions back. I didn't want to be a leach to them.

 

My question, however, caused an unexpected reaction. I saw in Mr. Jones' face the same aggravated expression filled with repressed anger he had when he saw his son being rude towards me.

 

“Mrs. Jones is dead,” he answered shortly.

 

A heavy silence followed this statement and while it was heavy, it wasn't a silence of mourning, I could sense.

 

Mr. Jones was visiblyirascible. Alfred was as grumpy as a spoiled child who didn't receive a treat after crying for it. Matthew was rolling his eyes and showing a general feeling of impatience that was not addressed to anyone in particular. I couldn't understand what was happening. The only thing I knew for sure about what was going on was that I had chosen the worst possible change of subject.

 

“I'm sorry for your loss, sir.” It was all I could say. There was more fear than sorrow in me while I stuttered these words, since all I could think of was how much of a problem it would be for me and my family if I offended Mr. Jones somehow.

 

“Don't be sorry,” he demanded immediately, shaking his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. This house has already adjusted well to a life without her.”

 

There was something harsh and resentful in the way he spoke. It was a bit odd. Instead of looking like a man talking about the death of his wife, he looked like one talking about the difficult victory against an enemy. Strange, indeed.

 

Anyhow, clearly not yearning to continue with that subject, he took a deep breath and tried to smile amiably.

 

“Now, how about we sit down to drink some tea?”

 

Oh, tea! Tea would be wonderful!

 

Tea time was such a great time for me and, honestly, there would be no greater consolation after such a tiresome afternoon. Since the Jones family had more money than mine, I had optimistic expectations about the amount of flavours of tea at our disposal and the quality of desserts that would be served with them. That was the first time I really became excited about my moving.

 

At least, I was until I heard the thud of a grumpy face crashing into the table.

 

“‘Why _tea_?” Mr. Alfred asked with a voice that emitted clear disgust. It had to be him. Heavens. What was that boy's problem? Calling people by their first names, laughing at their respectable branch of study, hating tea! He was out of control! “You know I despise tea, Dad! Honestly! Just because you want to imitate those boring nobles with their stupid teas, it doesn't mean everyone is forced to do whatever you-!”

 

“Alfred!” Mr. Jones exclaimed, hitting the table with one of his fists. It seemed that a serious fight was about to happen, when suddenly, as a flower coming from under the snow in the winter, Matthew Williams stood between me and Mr. Jones, grabbing my wrist and pressing it.

 

“Mr. Jones, I think I'm going to show Mr. Kirkland his room! How about you and Alfred discuss the tea's appetizers, meanwhile?” he said with urgency in his voice, giving me a nervous smile that conveyed the message "we-have-to-get-away-NOW".

 

At this interruption, Mr. Jones curled the corner of his mouth with a mixture of doubt and reprobation.

 

“Thank you, Matthew, but there is no need for th-”

 

Before Mr. Jones could finish his sentence, I jumped to show my interest for Mr. William's proposal. I didn't want to give Mr. Jones another opportunity to kidnap my shoulders.

 

“Yes, I would love to see my room! Thank you very much, Mr. Williams! That's very kind of you! Let's go now!”

 

Mr. Jones was very welcoming and a truly kind spirit, but I couldn't help feeling tense around him. He was a very powerful man, someone over excited about everything and the owner of the mansion where I would be staying for the summer. Besides, he seemed to have a drama happening with his son, in which I wanted no part with.

 

In comparison, being alone with Matthew would be more calming and comfortable to me, which was exactly what I aspired for.

 

 

* * *

 

As I thought, I enjoyed a lot Matthew Williams' company and his calm presence. Walking through the silent halls of the mansion next to someone with a similar calm temperament and situation left me much more at ease. In no time, I concluded this was a person in which I could find a friend and support in. He would be my safe place in that house.

 

“Thank you. Really,” I said, giving him a look with such heartfelt emotion of gratitude that I couldn't leave it exposed for more than a few seconds before getting embarrassed and averting my eyes.

 

“You're welcome.” He gave me a light and gentle smile. “As an older tenant of the house, I feel compelled to help a fellow colleague of unfortunate events.”

 

‘Unfortunate’, huh? That was a strong word to use to describe his life with the family who received him in their house.

 

“That's a terrible way to put it. Our situation doesn't seem half that bad,” I replied, a bit scolding and a bit bickering. Either Matthew Williams was truly ungrateful or the life in the Jones' house was much worse than I could guess by what I'd seen.

 

He shrugged, still smiling. “Mr. Jones and his son are good people. Truly generous people in some ways. They won't let you be in need for anything. In many senses, they usually offer more than you ask for. However, there are some precautions you must have while dealing with them.”

 

“Precautions, you say?”

 

“Well, for starters, about Mr. Jones…” Mr. Williams passed his tongue over his lower lip, “I was surprised that you didn't know it, since your father is one of the few people who knows of the family’s huge secret. It seems that Mr. Kirkland is more discreet than we imagined.”

 

“Huh?”

 

‘The huge secret’? What was ‘the huge secret’, precisely? Was there some sort of mystery being accidentally revealed upon my arrival? How many weird elements from literature could be found here? Rich and eccentric father, spoiled and stupid son, isolated country mansion, and now a huge family secret! Great.

 

Urgh. I didn't want to be the protagonist of a Gothic novel.

 

“Mrs. Jones left her husband.” Williams released this revelation all at once, not giving me a break or a chance to give an "Oh!" before adding the dirty details. “She met a violinist who seduced her, and she fled with him to America. She took Alfred with her. Alfred spent some years in the New World, but the couple's financial situation got complicated, and she was forced to return her son to her husband. This whole story is the family secret I was mentioning. For all intents and purposes, Mrs. Jones died during a trip and Alfred had to spend time in a foreign country with some distant relatives to get over his loss.”

 

It was such a preposterous drama that I didn't know whether if I should be proud of my father for not revealing it to me, or if I should start to reduce his dinner portions when I got home as a revenge for him never telling me this crucial information about the owners of the place I would be living in. I didn't even want to think what would have happened to me if I had asked Mr. Jones about a good concert of stringed instruments in the town, or played the violin in my room.

 

“Never mention Mrs. Jones in front of Mr. Jones. Or America. Or violinists,” Mr. Williams continued.

 

“Huh?”

 

At first, I thought Mr. Williams might be joking, but his instructions were honest and very precise.

 

“Before, my uncle didn't like speaking about any kind of artist. Painters, musicians, sculptors... He just hated artists in general. Then he restricted himself to disliking musicians. Nowadays, he’s overcome most of the anger. His hate is specifically directed to violinists. Oh, but in bad days, his hatred extends to all stringed instrument players. Just pay a little attention to his mood changes.”

 

“Any other advice?” I decided to carefully ask, creasing my brows and tilting my head to the side in my slight disbelief of the veracity of the strange warnings I just received.

 

“Yes. Alfred, my cousin, can be a bit annoying in front of his father, but he only becomes unbearable when you're alone with him. Then he can be inconvenient as hell.”

 

Oh! I wondered if I should pretend to be horrified by the use of that bad word. While in my house, even my mother said profanities as the worst of pirates, but that wasn't expected in a conversation among gentlemen! Was I supposed to react to it? After thinking about it for a couple of seconds, I discarded the possibility of pretending to be horrified at this because, honestly, at this point, what bad word could be more scandalous than the story I was listening to?

 

I decided to ignore what I heard and focus on the subject of our conversation.

 

“Are you certain that there's no exaggeration in your words?” I inquired.

 

He shook his head to the side and closed his eyes. His face remained calm and filled with practical sense, but it acquired vague hints of an incisive ferocity and absolute resolution, making him look like a war veteran.

 

“I'm being completely serious. I know you will understand it in no time. For now, just listen to what I have to say. This summer, as soon as Mr. Jones leaves, Alfred is going to do whatever he can to catch your attention. He is going to tease you, provoke you, and bother you for no reason. He gets easily bored and this is one of the few amusements in his life. Once Mr. Jones leaves for India, which will happen soon, he will test all the limits of your patience. You need to be strong. Don't let him make you leave this place before your time. It's not worth it. This place is great, and however unpleasant that Alfred may be, he will never exceed certain limits.”

 

This conversation was making me anxious about the fate that I would have on the Jones' property, and I finally had to ask, frowning in dissatisfaction.

 

“Why does he act like this?”

 

Matthew opened his eyes again. They twinkled with innocent nonchalance.

 

“I think that's his immature way of demonstrating interest for someone and trying to approach them,” he explained, “He is quite indifferent to people who don't seem interesting to him.”

 

Oh.

 

That was great news for me, actually.

 

“In this case, I have nothing to worry about. I doubt he'll be remotely interested in me.” I sighed in relief and let a smile run down the edge of my lips. Why hadn't Mr. Williams said that before? That changed things for me.

 

However, the way Matthew stared at me when I made that statement suggested that he was beginning to seriously doubt my intelligence, and that left me a bit offended.

 

“From what I know of him, he is already showing interest in you.” He raised an eyebrow with a "did-you-really-not-notice-it" look on his face.

 

It seemed like Mr. Williams and I had completely different views of what happened in that dining room. If anything, Mr. Jones seemed way more interested in getting close to me than his son was.

 

“If so, he will lose it in no time.” Very satisfied with this conclusion, I said my response in a casual manner, elongating my shoulders and feeling the tension in them slowly fade. “A twenty-three year old man, with such a weak body, which prefers to study rocks or sewing to hunting, drinking, or dancing? Definitely, this is not the kind of company that Alfred Frederick Jones is looking for.”

 

This very thought was my first big mistake of the many I made in the time I spent with the Jones family that summer.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Little historical curiosities:
> 
>  
> 
> N01. About the period in question -> The eighteenth century was an important period for the bourgeois social ascendance, which caused a greater diversity of social classes. Among bourgeois, you could find from people who lived a simple life with their modest business to people whose money exceeded the amount the properties of noble, though they still lacked certain privileges of the nobility. It is also worth noting that 1789 is the year of the French Revolution.
> 
> N02. The normal among people of that time was to treat a person by their family name, unless other people with the same surname were around. In this case, surname priority would be given to the oldest person and the others would be treated by their first names. This is why Arthur says that is chocking to hear Alfred calling him by his first name when his brothers and father are not even around. 
> 
> N03. The seventeenth century was the period in which it began to be interested in the formal study of geology and in 1785, James Hutton, considered the first modern geologist, launched his book “Theory about the Earth". However, it is worth saying that the geology of the eighteenth century was strangely based on religious reasons, such as to prove that the Great Flood mentioned in the Bible really happened and had influenced the formation of the Earth's surface. The interest of Arthur research of mineral and earth components was something that only became popular in the nineteenth century with the growth of the industrial revolution and the need to mine for certain recourses. Thus, in his own century, Arthur was not much different from the lady of the butterflies, a collector of butterflies that everyone thought it was just weird and eccentric. The passion of Arthur by stones is something that people still consider weird and funny.
> 
> N04. "You just want to imitate these noble idiots!", This really happened. Many bourgeois aspired higher social circles than the one they were born into and for this, they tried to imitate the style of the nobility in certain respects to be accepted by the nobles as one of them. Mr. Jones is an example of this kind of people.


End file.
